"Hey, cyclist, can you help me tell my ass from my elbow?"

Believe me when I tell you it's so comfy it's like wearing nothing at all--assuming your lower back area has handy marsupial-like pockets for carrying your keys, cellphone, and wallet. Really, the only way I could have been more comfortable would have been if I'd been wearing my matching hat:

Sadly, it's been a long winter and even after turning my bikey clothes drawer upside down I couldn't find the goddamn hat, so I wore the next best thing instead:

Clearly I was clad in the very pinnacle of cycling haute couture, so while at first I thought the Rapha riders were regarding me with distain for my appearance, in retrospect it's clear they were consumed by jealousy of my haberdashery.

Also, in the old days portliness was a sign of status, so I like to think that carries over on a subliminal level to the present day and that my swollen midriff is intimidating to my fellow Freds.

Not only that, but I'm going to be at their booth, and while I'm certainly not an attraction there will be an opportunity to get your hands on (our your head in) a free hat!!!

I'll share the details once we've finalized them, but figure I'll be there Friday and Saturday afternoons, and on Saturday I'm thinking maybe we can all meet someplace for a ride and then head to the expo together.

Now, let's set all this self-promotion aside for a moment and talk about something important--more so even than the helme(n)t debate, or the waving debate, or even the saddle-vs-no-saddle debate (I'm unabashedly pro-saddle, by the way).

I'm talking about how to deal with drivers who ask you for directions while you're riding.

("I'm looking for a fountain, is this it?")

Please allow me to preface this by saying that, when wheeled vehicles aren't involved and everybody is on foot, I will always give people directions to the best of my ability. This is New York City after all, so as you go about your business you're bound to encounter families of khaki-clad Midwesterners, or else parties of Euro-trash who are readily identified by their ridiculous jeans and their sneakers that look like something you'd wear on a space station. I'm always happy to point these sorry rubes in the right direction, even if they're wearing too much cologne like the Euros invariably are. Furthermore, if I'm not exactly sure where the thing they're looking for is because it's the sort of godless tourist trap in which I wouldn't be caught dead, I will even go so far as to consult the mapping feature on my cellular telephone for them so as to spare them from costly roaming charges.

I'm a one-man welcome wagon, goddamn it.

However, the dynamic changes dramatically when a driver is involved. This is because drivers fully expect you to risk death in the process of helping them. Consider, for example, the time I was in downtown Manhattan, on foot, waiting to cross West Street (or the "West Side Highway" as we call it) from the greenway with one of the small human children that I own. As we're waiting for the light, a driver screeches to a halt and yells at me, "Where's Pier [I can't remember the number]?"

So there he is, stopped in the middle of the right lane. Traffic behind him is moving at like 50mph, and drivers are swerving and beeping at him as he sits there like a schmuck waiting for directions from me. What is this guy, stupid?!? All I could think about was this idiot getting rear-ended, and his shitbox flipping over onto the greenway, and then a New York Post article about how a whole family got flattened by a Hyundai and that there's "no criminality suspected."

To my credit, instead of telling him to go blow himself, I simply told him "I'm not from here" and ignored him until he gave up.

And it's even worse when I'm on a bike. Here are drivers' favorite times to ask you for directions while you're cycling:

--When you're climbing a steep hill;
--When you're descending a steep hill;
--When you're in any kind of situation that requires your undivided attention--which, when operating a bicycle on roads "shared" with motor vehicles, is most of the time.

I was reminded of this last Saturday when I began my ride. As you round Wave Hill, the street drops precipitously towards the river, and the road surface is so potholed that you'd be forgiven for thinking it had been carpet-bombed. Therefore, it is crucial to focus on your front wheel, lest it roll into one of these many potholes and you go flying over the bars--yet at the same time you also have to look ahead of you, lest you take out a family of Jews walking to shul. Then you've got the cars and shuttle buses and foot traffic headed to Wave Hill to contend with, not to mention that coyote that's harassing Stephen Spielberg's sister.

So there I am, picking my way through potholes and Jews, when a minivan rolls by in the opposite direction and the driver yells at me, "WHERE WAVE HILL GARDEN?!?"

Wave Hill, I should point out, is right the fuck in front of him. Like, if he were looking ahead of him instead of at me, he'd be looking at it. All he had to do was drive for like 50 more feet and he'd see the goddamn sign.

I wanted to ignore him, yet I'm cursed with the inability to completely divorce myself from humanity, and so I do him the profound kindless of slowing down and replying, "Just keep going straight, it's right there."

"WHAT?!? WHERE WAVE HILL GARDEN?!?"

Oh my god. At this point I'm ready to Bjarne Riis my bike onto the nearest lawn, pull him from the driver's seat, get in the minivan, and drive it right through the stone wall and into the crafting area.

In fact, the only thing that stopped me was that if the cops caught me in Lycra they'd throw the book at me since it would be obvious I was a cyclist. If, however, I were to drive a minivan through a public garden while wearing street clothes, all I'd have to say was "Oops, I mistook the gas for the brake," and it would be "No criminality suspected, sorry for the inconvenience, here's your season pass to Wave Hill."

Instead, I simply repeated "Keep going straight" like the sycophant I am and went on my way.

And this was a relatively benign example, because at least I was near my home. Usually drivers stop me when I'm a good 20 miles or so from the city and don't know where shit is anyway. "No, I don't know where the freaking outlet mall is," I always want to scream. "Do I look like I'm up here to shop for a slightly irregular suit?" And even if I did know, the last thing you want to do is ask directions from a cyclist on a road bike, because you're going to get an answer like this:

"Do you want some climbing? If so head up past the deli where we stopped that time when Dave bonked, then go like 20k to that spot where Bill flatted that other time, then you're going to hit this 11% section--not the Bitch's Nipple climb but the other one--then you're gonna drop down right behind the parking lot of the Men's Wearhouse."

Maybe I'm getting old, but I remember a time when if a driver was lost he stopped at a gas station. (I've had drivers ask me directions to the gas station, by the way, which is extremely ironic.) I'm also not sure why you can't keep drivers off their goddamn cell phones, yet when it comes to figuring out where they're going they forget they have them and ask cyclists instead.

Basically, drivers hate us until they're lost, at which point we're there to provide them with a public service.

Ask for directions at a gas station. Is that a joke?. Try it, you'll get one of two things. Either a high school kid who's stoned out of his gourd and couldn't tell you where Primrose Lane is even if he grew up on it. Or, someone who supposedly doesn't speak any of the languages you do. I try English, response "Me no no", I try French, response "Me no no", I try Spanish, response "Me no no". Me, do you sell road maps, response, in perfect English "Their in the rack, around the corner from the cash register, three ninety nine each".

We ride usually starting at sunrise and the campus there opens to family visitors around 1-2 later so we, being the only people on these windy, mountainy roads, get to give directions to the places almost weekly.

We joke that we are going to get jerseys that say "Turn left from Zion onto Lindbergh, then it's on the right"

Concealed Carrie missed the boat neglecting all the great places to stow your gun on a tri bike. Dirty Harry could hide his magnum between the aerobars. You could stow a derringer in a small niche in the water bottle. (or a derrier-inger in a fanny pack)

Long time lurker, first time poster...and this is what draws me out. :facepalm:I'm one of those people that isn't opposed to firearms for hunting and target shooting--even for household security and military engagements, as long as we can't manage to sort out better alternatives--but I remain unconvinced by the arguments I've heard to justify conceal/carry. Especially when folks like the lady in the special video talk about "for the...shooter on the go!" Why not "for the secure person" or "for the fearful person" (depending on your perspective)? Sure, it's not as direct as "shooter," but it's also a little less gratuitously aggressive. I mean, unless the point of taking a gun with you is making sure you get to shoot the damn thing...Bryan

I was waiting beneath the light at an intersection trying to run left and a truck pulled up next to me to ask how to get to the gay bar. There I was in he middle of the intersection focusing on my turn and suddenly I'm dividing my attention so this dude can have a killer night.

Maybe they think we're more convenient than pedestrians because we can go right up to there window and they don't even have to get out of their cars.

When I'm in lycra, I expect people to understand that I'm a wuss. Why should they think I'm packing heat? At most, they should think I've got a can of pepper spray that will discharge in my face before I figure how to use it.

hmm how do you like them there beans? i'd have to ask joe how to get there meself. and i'm about 10 mi from the place. and only 5 streets counting mine and the one the place in on. the only juvee i knew was across from the new montgomery high and that musta closed up 15-20 years ago now.

i find (whether on bike or foot) that the driver will roll down his window and yell. i think they expect me to ride/walk over because they are too fucking lazy ot get out of their car. i'll yell back but won't go to them. they want freakin directions, they can put in the effort.

Wave Hill with the precipitous potholed downhill sounds like an otherwise ideal place to avoid the waving and helment debates; mandatory and prudent. Well, at least I assume waving would be mandatory there.

sweet, bike expo! For some reason I always seem to be out of town when it goes down, not this year bitches! I'm there. Count me in on the ride. Maybe from the expo up to your place in the BX for beer and BBQ?

I always help out motorists, especially the ones who scream out, "Heyyyyyy!! Where's the Walmart at??"

I take this opportunity to regale them with a fine tale of past rides with chums of olde, and highlight not the pedestrian gauche street signs of the everyman, but the flora and fauna unique in perspective to the gentleman on his velocipide. "Simply four hundred 23 rods ahead, a sharp left at the bush that blooms every third week in May, continue until the fecal odour of bovines is overwhelming, a slight right, follow by another sharp left an Wilson's stone-of -urination, then you cannot miss it, just look for those of plentiful girth. You are certainly welcome."

Whenever you mention your 17 human children, I always picture the smugness floatilla and something like this: http://tinyurl.com/njw7bzw. but without the helment if course, because that would send the wrong message...

I checked out ol' Carrie's website, and mentioned it to a female co-worker who has a well-used Pennsyltucky carry permit. As I suspected, telling a gunhead about an entire website devoted to women-specific concealed carry accessories is like telling a cyclist that there is a website that deals exclusively in racing equipment. As in, "Yeah... so???"

At an earlier job I jumped into a coworkers Ram pickup to head out for lunch, and I sat on a hard lump under the sheepskin seat cover. It was "Oh, sorry..." as he retrieved his snub-nosed 0.380. He had been in bad neighborhood the previous night, but stuck the pistol back in the glove box where it belongs.

It depends where you live, but around here I'm pretty sure there are many-fold more cars with guns inside than with bikes on top.... and NE PA is hardly Deliverance country, at least not quite. So, I wear a foam helment and try not to mouth off unless I'm really pissed... and the driver looks like Carrie.

Searched on "concealed carry bicycle". Good grief. More anal than a Record vs Dura Ace debate. What's the best carry for a 1911A, what's the best carry for an N frame? Sure, thumb off a couple of rounds out of one of those while riding, not to mention trying to drag it around.

I'm actually kinda amazed no one yet has a Kickstarter project that integrates a 12-gauge shotgun into the toptube, rearward facing. I already have the catch-phrase, "don't just drop 'em, really drop 'em."I wish I had that last night riding through a neighbourhood of known anal rapists.

Mr. Snob - I am going to be in the City this coming weekend. While I am sad I won't be able see you at the bike expoo, I was hoping that you might consider a pre-fondon't ride on Saturday. I'll be Citi biking around the City (helmentless, dammit) on Saturday and Sunday. Perhaps you might care to join me.

CC@431: "I'm actually kinda amazed no one yet has a Kickstarter project that integrates a 12-gauge shotgun into the top tube."

A sawed off could be incorporated into the head tube (insert oral sex joke here, involving Babble or not) too, in case an investment banker flies over in his personal helicopter. Just don't pull the trigger while leaning on the aero's.

I'm watching the Cavs vs Celtics because I'm in a bar and it's on every TV. Normally I'm all Meh about basketball. Anyways a commercial for KFC comes on featuring a girl on a bike pulling a boy in a red Ryder. They were both wearing helments. The kicker - the streets are so scary that the girl was wearing a motorcycle helment.

Aw maaaaan! I do wish I could come on that ride with you guys. And the Fondon't. Specially the Fondon't. If some air miles miraculously appeared to get me there, I would ever so happily pull my share to spare yer legs for that final sprint. Just sayin is all.

I am going to have to start collecting air miles. All this time, I figured I didn't need no stinking plane, that my legs could take me wherever I need to go, but no. Air miles are part of the fabric of our society. They've become currency. In fact, several schools and universities here in BC have started taking air miles in lieu of money to cover tuition fees. Can you believe it? Sometimes I don't recognise the planet we live on.

Where did I put that gun? I'm feeling like a shooter on the run today.

Earth day: since the seventies, when April 22 was designated Earth day, human numbers have doubled, whilst all other species have been reduced by half. According to climate scientists today, the only way humans can survive the changes to come is if we leave at least 75% of the fossil fuels still underground IN the ground.

It's somewhat ignorant to be prejudiced against those who carry firearms for self-defense. Riding around on a multiple-thousand-dollar, easily-sold piece of equipment is often a risky proposition (especially for a woman).

And if gun crime is your concern, concealed carry is actually correlated with no change or a decrease in murder rates. So no, asking a cyclist who carries a firearm for self-defense for a spare tube isn't going to get you shot. In fact, if you live outside a few select areas in the US, you probably talk to people carrying a pistol every day without knowing it (and somehow don't get yourself shot).

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About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!